


Day-glo Orange

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Alien Biology, M/M, Pissy Castiel, Shower Sex, SuperWood, flirty Jack, goo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: A little downtime on a Space Station, a dive-bar in the cheap sector, a blobby alien... what could go wrong?





	Day-glo Orange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cuda (Scylla)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/gifts).



> Happy Birthday my dearest wing-sis! I think I drunkenly confessed to you at some point that I was working on this (I recall your sofa and a lot of wine...) but, here it actually is!! <3 <3 <3

“Oh, shit!” Jack swore, vehemently, because the ion-projectile that had been aimed towards him missed his ear by about three inches and struck a Traykarian right in the center of the chest.

Bulbous eyes on the end of stubby stalks went momentarily wide, and then they rolled-back, showing bile-green sclera. The Traykarian let out an odd, breathy sort of gurgle from its mouth/orifice and then, it promptly died.

Someone else in the room had the good sense to yell, “Traykarian down!”

Uncharacteristically, Jack froze, torn between the deeply ingrained instinct to duck and cover, and the equally compelling instinct to get Cas the hell out of the way.

That split-second indecision was enough…

The key thing to be aware of was that at the point of brain death a peculiar bio-chemical reaction took place inside of Traykarians.

When neurological function ceased, the entirety of their biological structure -- barring their silica pebbled epidermis -- broke down almost instantaneously into a fluid state, while all external orifices sealed themselves shut. This degradation turned their organs, muscles, tissues, bones and blood into a thick, sticky sort of orange goo.  

Under the density-shift of the change, their heavy, lifeless husks tended to collapse and expel this syrupy muck at high pressure from any unnatural break in the skin (usually from the injury site that caused their death). Considering that Traykarians were generally ovoid-shaped, most other species in the universe who’d encountered them in battle referred to them as ‘glue bags’ (or the equivalent in their own languages) and knew better than to fight them in close combat. 

Jack knew that. 

He did.  It was a lesson learned early on in his days in the Time Agency.    

One experience – the kind everyone needed to have to truly learn the lesson – of being too close when a shot from his sidearm hit a Traykarian right between the eyes and he’d been subject to a high-pressure hosing down from the vile gunk that had spewed out of the still-smoking entrance wound.  It wasn’t even the mess, or just how incredibly gross it was being covered in liquefied guts, but the fact that after a few minutes, the sticky stuff hardened.  If one didn’t get it off quick enough and get the hell away, they were likely to be frozen in place and swarmed by dozens of the dead Traykarian’s brethren.

Xenobiologists had always speculated that it was a defensive mutation.  On their own, the Traykary were slow-moving, not all that intelligent, and possessed only a very rudimentary space-faring technology (and that was borrowed from the remnants of a much more advanced species that had long ago fled the planet).  Alone, they were all too easy to kill. But they had numbers; they bred like proverbial Earth rabbits (though in a not nearly so fun manner, considering they reproduced via sporogenesis).  They were also extremely resistant to atmospheric, gravitational, and environmental variances. It was for that reason – well that and the whole exploding into glue – that they were often deployed as the frontlines in any kind of terrain-based combat.

Jack knew all of that as well.

He’d fought waves and waves of Traykarians on the mud-fields of Bellus VI, and manned the spatter-cannons on Suuran Prime to gun down the first assaults on the Primacy buildings to protect Princess Derraba.  Even when forced into the trenches to fight hand-to-appendage with the Traykary, Jack knew the techniques (blade through the spine, and yank the body down by the ear-flaps to land on their backs so the spray was mostly contained) to avoid getting caught in the goop.

Again, this was all information that Jack was familiar with. It was common knowledge throughout this section of galaxies.

The one thing that Jack forgot…

…was to share that information with Cas.

So, he fully and completely deserved the rather flat-eyed glare currently being aimed in his direction.  Well… what he could see of it beneath the orange slime that dripped down from Cas’ head and trickled slowly down the side of his face.

He really, _really_ should have told Cas to duck.

Actually, the moment they’d stepped into the bar and he’d spotted the Traykarian back in the corner with the bottle of something purple and steaming gripped in a clawed appendage, he should’ve remembered to give Cas the heads-up. 

It’s just… he and Cas had been travelling the known (and unknown) universe together for so long now, that he’d started to forget that this kind of scene _hadn’t_ been part of Cas’ milieu until Jack had come into his life.

Which, of course, made Jack start to wonder if they were getting stale? He’d used to revel in getting to share new and wondrous and little-known secrets of galaxies and planets and star-systems with Cas. He’d loved watching Cas’ reactions… loved knowing that he got to be the one to bring that wide-eyed curiosity to Cas’ eye. 

But this time, he’d just kind of assumed that Cas knew what he knew. His first instinct upon spotting the grey-skinned, blobby alien hadn’t been to say “Hey, Cas. That’s a Taykarian. If one of them dies, be sure to get the hell away from it.” Actually, his first thought had been more along the lines of “Is that Traykarian drinking a Vodvariath Steam Punch? I haven’t had one of those in years!”

And what did that say about his and Cas’ relationship?

Jack shook his head clear of the too-deep thoughts, and realized that while he’d been woolgathering, Cas was still standing directly in the path of the high-velocity hose-down.

To be fair though, it’d been a _long_ time since Jack had seen a Traykarian just… expel goo like that. It was pretty fascinating to watch. Not to mention, once Cas took that initial explosive burst of day-glo orange slime, it was better for the both of them that Jack stay out of range, so he could remain mobile enough to aid in the clean-up process (with Traykarians, the buddy-system worked best).

Luckily it was just the one Traykarian – the unfortunate casualty of a bar fight gone terribly wrong and some idiot with an ion blaster and shitty aim – so there was no risk of being swarmed by dozens of the lumbering, grey-skinned blobs.  Still, the slime would start solidifying soon enough, and if an Angel covered in orange glue-goo was pissed off enough, Jack didn’t want to think of how enraged he’d be if the stuff hardened.

Keeping a smirk firmly hidden beneath a concerned frown (because it wasn’t funny… it really wasn’t…), Jack held out a hand. “C’mon, Cas. We gotta get you back to” –he did the mental mapping and their station quarters were marginally closer than the base decon chamber– “our room and get you rinsed off.”

When Cas stayed unmoving, staring at Jack’s outstretched fingers like they were the ones layered in viscous, semi-translucent slime, Jack’s frown became much more genuine. “Really, you’ll need to get that shit off of you pretty quick. Plus, we should go before this lot regroups.” He gave a finger-flicking gesture to the chaos-in-situ surrounding them.

Luckily -- since the rather amusing, raucous bar brawl had devolved into something too-serious once weapons had been drawn -- an exploding Traykarian worked as an effective distraction-slash-deterrent to all involved. The bars’ denizens were too busy ducking out of spray-range to concentrate on their aggression toward each other.  Jack knew that would change soon enough, however, especially as the Traykarian was almost empty… skin bag collapsing like an empty sack and only a sputtering trickle still fountaining from the hole in its’ chest.

Still, Cas stood unmoving. He looked like nothing more than a pissy, drenched cat so indignant over the soaking that it didn’t know whether to claw and spit, or bolt for hiding. 

Deciding it was worth the risk (of both Cas’ wrath, and the chance they might be glued together), Jack made an executive decision and lunged forward and grabbed Cas’ hand. “C’mon,” he repeated, towing Cas after him. Fortunately for him, Cas followed tractably enough.

When they’d left the dubious, dingy little, ‘furthest-edge of the spaceport so of course they’d found trouble’ bar behind – Cas trailing little orange drops and dribbles with each step – he finally spoke up. “That being exploded.”

And he sounded so put-out by that that Jack couldn’t help finally letting the laugh free. “Yeah, they do that.”

“And this substance appears to be congealing.” If possible, Cas’ tone went even flatter. In Jack’s mind its timbre was so low and sans energy it would flat line on an oscilloscope.

“Uh yeah, it does that.” He could feel the jelly between their clasped hands getting stickier and thicker with every passing second.  “Don’t worry though,” he tried to reassure Cas. “We’ll get to our quarters and get you rinsed off before it hardens.”

“Hardens?” Cas’ voice finally picked up a little edge.

An edge that Jack chose to ignore in favor of more reassurance. “Really, nothing to worry about. We’ll get you cleaned-up in no time.”

Except that was apparently easier said than done.

One thing Jack hadn’t taken into account when he’d made the call on their best destination to get Cas clean as quickly as possible, was the fact that getting to their quarters meant making their way through an extremely public thoroughfare.  And unfortunately – which he _should’ve_ anticipated – as they neared the more populated areas of the station, they started getting some negative attention from passers-by.  Beings from nearly every known species in the quadrant frequented this station, and no matter if they had eyeballs, eyestalks, sensor antenna or no visible ocular organs, they all still, somehow, managed to side-eye the hell out of Cas. 

Though, the ubiquity of Traykarian goo in this region of space also meant that most everyone gave them a wide berth, clearing a path for them that might otherwise have been difficult to struggle through – especially as they were headed upstream at a downstream time of day. So Jack counted _that_ as a plus. (And if the Mandorian female with the purple spots hadn’t wanted goo on her handbag, she should’ve moved the damn tentacle further out of the way).

Even worse than the attention and potential for someone to file a formal complaint against them with station ops (which could get them kicked out of the swanky, high-end room he’d finagled in a game of Rygellian poker, or off the station entirely), this route also meant they’d have to take public transport links.

The links were free-for-use, but they were often guarded by bored station wardens – usually as punishment duty – with little to distract them except harassing would-be passengers for ridiculous reasons. Unless Jack got really _really_ lucky, there was no way he and Cas were going to be let into the link carriage with Cas looking the way he did.

Jack paused a few dozen yards away from the link station and studied his options carefully.

“Jack?”

Just his name, but Jack heard whole paragraphs of question and commentary in it. He didn’t need Cas to remind him that the stuff was getting stiffer, thicker and stickier, consistency going from ooze to tar. Their hands were definitely not coming apart until he could get some solvent on them.  

There were six link carriage booths at this hub.  Jack quickly narrowed his choices down to two, and then did a mental ‘eeny-meeny’ to select between the young-ish Palaxian male (age and gender made obvious by physiognomy: bright flecks of florescent green still visible on his spino-cranial ridge), and the rather short and buxom human(esque) female who was eyeing up every attractive being that passed her post.

‘Miney-moe’ landed on the Palaxian and as Jack resumed walking towards the link hub, he remembered suddenly another helpful fact of Palaxian physiology; they were red-spectrum colorblind.  So even _when_ (because there was no ‘if’) he noticed that Cas was head-to-toe covered in some kind of viscous substance, hopefully he’d not be able to identify it on color alone.

Maybe they’d get really lucky and the Palaxian would just assume ‘slime-covered’ was a natural state of being for Cas’ species?

Still, Jack couldn’t rely – entirely – on luck, so his steps became a swagger as he neared the booth and the young Warden. He kept the hand that was tethered to Cas’ outstretched behind him to give himself at least a modicum of privacy, and stopped just a body-length away from the Palaxian.

Jack grinned his flirtiest grin – the just slightly crooked one that put a perfect dimple in his cheek – and said in his most whisky-smooth voice, “Hey there,” he let his gaze drop to the name tag on the warden’s uniform, then let it fall further before making a long, slow, devouring path back up, “Zerresh.”

As predicted, Zerresh the Palaxian’s crest flared, florescent spots going from green to neon yellow, and he stuttered out a rather squeaky, “Uh, hello.” (There was a reason the phrase ‘eager as a Palaxian cadet just out of the clutch’ circulated this area of the galaxy.)

Jack extended his free hand. “The name’s Captain Jack Harkness. Call me Jack.”

“Uh, hello, Cap… uh, Jack.” Zerresh’s three-fingered hand trembled when Jack closed it in a tight, too-lingering grip.

Ignoring Cas’ snort from behind him, Jack slowly drew his hand back and let his fingertips drag gently over faintly-furred, suede-soft, lavender colored skin. “So, I just had to tell you that I’ve noticed you here. Been watching you for a while now.” He made the admission with just a bit of a wink.

Zerresh’s eyes narrowed, drawing mottled plum and lightly feathered brows inward over an aquiline nose. “Uh, this is my first day being posted to lift duty?”

Inwardly, Jack swore.  Outwardly, he just amped up the grin a notch. “Right. I’ve been watching you today. Quite a bit. Hard to keep my eyes off you.”

“Oh.” Zerresh blinked, slowly. Palaxian eyes were three-lidded, and the inner lid took a long while to slide back into place. Toroidal pupils were wide and dark, shrinking turquoise and gold striated irises to thin, glittery rings. “Really?” he breathed after a moment.

“Oh yeah,” Jack drawled all slow and honeyed.

The tips of Zerresh’s pointed ears, the ridges of his crest and those knife-sharp cheekbones all flushed a delighted blue. Though, Jack had to give him points for trying to _stay_ on point, because he looked past Jack to where Castiel stood, and he nodded towards their clasped hands. “Um, what about your, uhh… friend?”

He seemed to really _see_ Cas for the first time and his brow-feathers dipped low again. “And what’s that substance–”

Jack didn’t let him finish and waved that away. “Oh, he’s fine, he’s good. Bit of an incident at the Keporian Jelly shop, but don’t you worry. I’m just taking him to get cleaned up. I just have to keep hold of him so he doesn’t get lost and wander off.” He mimed some kind of mental affliction, waggling his fingers near his head. Then he dropped his head and voice both, adding in a low whisper, “But, after I get him back to his room, and after you get off shift, maybe we could…” he raised one eyebrow artfully and let the idea trail off.

“Uh, um… w…wweee….well, I uh…” Zerresh’s stuttering would have been totally charming and absolutely worth playing up, if it weren’t for the fact that at that moment Jack heard a sharp, sticky crackle from behind him and realized that Cas was going to be immobile in about two-minutes.

Jack took pity on the young man. “Look, Zerresh. I’m starting to hold up the line here,”–which wasn’t necessarily true as people were still avoiding Cas at all costs so only two brave souls were queued up behind him –“so, why don’t I get my friend here cleaned up, and you think on it. If you’re interested, meet me at The Rusty Dalek at 0300 station normal.”

Licking his lower lip with a bifurcated tongue, Zerresh nodded. “I… uh, I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Great,” Jack breathed.

It was, perhaps, going a bit over the top, but he definitely wanted to keep Zerresh’s focus on him and not Cas, so Jack reached out and traced a single fingertip along Zerresh’s jawline. “You uh, had a feather,” Jack explained, a trifle innocent, though his wicked eyes told an entirely different story (not to mention there wasn’t a bit of drifting plumage to be found).

One last wink and then Jack towed Cas into the link after him.  No one followed them in so they had the whole of the link carriage to themselves. He looked back to see Zerresh watching him, mouth slightly ajar and skin flushed nearly cerulean where it was thinnest. He pressed the destination pad and while he waited for the lift-sensors to register there were no more passengers boarding, he did his best to maintain eye contact with Zerresh.

Then the lift doors whooshed together, effectively ending the need for the ruse.  Jack nearly slumped against the lift-wall in relief.

“Was that really necessary?” Cas asked, though the words were slightly muffled as he seemed to be having trouble moving his mouth.

“Trust me, Cas. If I hadn’t greased the wheels there, so to speak… not that there was any actual greasing…” he cleared his throat at Cas’ glare (which was going to be frozen in place in about thirty-seconds). “But trust me; we’d never have gotten on a lift if I hadn’t. And then we’d have had to run down like six station sectors to the freight lifts, and we’d never have made it.”

“We’re not likely to make it as it is,” Cas grumbled, and then demonstrated by trying to lift his arm. _Try_ being the operative word.  There was a creaking sound, and a few millimeters of motion, but otherwise Cas was effectively immobilized.

“Shit. Can you walk?”

Cas tried an experimental step. Though limited, almost like he’d been hobbled, he could still move under his own locomotion. Luckily, he’d been wearing his trenchcoat and the glue-spatter hadn’t quite as fully drenched his lower half so he’d probably retain some range-of-motion in his legs, if nothing else.

“Okay,” Jack said brightly. Maybe overly brightly, but he had to keep things positive. “We’re good then. We’re good. We got this.” He’d have warned Cas about the breathing thing – taking deep, chest-expanding breaths so that you still had room for lung-expansion even when everything external was rock solid – except Cas really didn’t need to worry about that.

The lift pinged as it reached their tier – seventy-seventh – and once the doors opened, Jack used the connection between their bonded hands to help Cas into the corridor. It was slow-going; Cas kind of shimmying and rocking side-to-side and then trundling forward a few inches at a time.

Fortunately, their quarters were a station ‘suite’ and there were only two on this tier (second in grandiosity only to the eightieth level ‘super-suite’ that occupied the whole of the very top level of the housing tower). “Only a few more feet,” Jack said encouragingly. “We’re almost there and then we’ll get you right to the showers. I promise: getting this stuff off is going to be a lot more pleasant that it was getting it on.”

If Cas had any reply, he didn’t voice it. That could’ve been because his mouth was frozen into immobility, though Jack wouldn’t necessarily put it past Cas to just be his usual taciturn self about this whole situation.

By the time they got into the room, Jack was pretty much fully managing Cas’ mobility. If he rocked him side-to-side, he could kind of swivel Cas’ body across the neu-marble floor. It was slow-going, and Jack started to feel the strain in his shoulders and lower back after crossing about half-the distance from the fancy foyer to the even fancier en-suite.  Not to mention the cramp forming in his hand from the awkward position it was forced into where it was cemented to Cas’.

Despite the posh elegance of the room, Jack was starting to regret that they weren’t just berthed in regular station quarters. In those, the distance from the door to the bathing alcove was a matter of feet. In this monstrosity of a room, that measurement changed to yards… quite a few of them.  

Cas was essentially frozen – a Day-Glo, semi-translucent orange statue – by the time Jack got him into the cleaning cubicle.  His regret over their posh accommodations transitioned back to appreciation; the ‘shower’ was huge. Slightly recessed into the floor and enclosed by hazy, not-quite opaque privacy force fields (that gave the effect of smoked glass) the highlight of the space was the multitude of extrusion ports ringing the upper circumference. They dispensed not only water but steam, a thin-protein mud, several various species-specific cleansers, and – blessedly – the particular solvent they needed; plus they were fully customizable to incorporate any and all of those things at once. 

One-handed, Jack activated the hot water, the steam, and the solvent-cleanser that would soften and then dissolve the Traykarian goo and then pressed the ‘on’ button.  Two dozen jets filled the space with perfect temperature, steamy, slightly citrus smelling water, drenching him and Cas within seconds.

Jack’s first ‘target area’ was to unstick his and Cas’ hands, because he’d need both to scrub Cas down. He cupped his free hand under a nozzle, collecting a scoop of solvent/water and poured it directly over the knot of their joined-hands. A few more palm-fulls did the trick and he managed to wiggle his hand free. After shaking it out for a few seconds to ease the cramps, he hurried to strip himself down and then got to work sluicing as much of the crusted goo away as he could.  

Some of the gunk peeled away from Cas’ clothing – especially the coat and his pants – in shards and hunks that he let drop to the floor of the alcove where they continued to dissolve. Other areas, especially against direct skin, needed to be carefully massaged until the day-glo crust softened enough to be rinsed away.

Both of their clothes were a lost cause for anything other than the station’s laundry service (and he’d have to pay extra to treat Traykarian stains) but after some vigorous scrubbing and careful manipulating of limbs, he was able to get Cas stripped down to skin. 

“See,” he said with a watery chuckle, smoothing his hands back up Cas’ thighs after working him out of his socks and shoes and adding them to the sopping pile of discarded clothing in the corner of the alcove, “almost all better now.” He stood and blinked away the mist from his lashes to see Cas still glowering at him. The top of his head was still rather covered in a helmet of day-glo orange. He _had_ taken the brunt of the goo-spray across the side of his head, and it tended to layer on itself…

“C’mon, Cas. You’re gonna laugh about this, admit it.” He got a double handful of pure solvent from a lower spout, and drizzled it over the hardened orange dome covering Cas’ hair.

“I’ll admit nothing of the sort,” Cas replied, still sounding shirty. Though… his hands made their way to Jack’s hips, and the corner of his mouth seemed to be fighting an inward tug.

Slowly, with a few more applications of pure solvent, the last layer of crystalized goo dissolved into thin streams of shimmery orange that swirled down the drain. Finally… after a good, thorough rinse, the water ran clear. Still, Jack worked through Cas’ hair, scrubbing his fingers deep into the thick, mink-dark strands. He changed up the combo coming out of the sprayers, turning off the solvent and adding in some pleasant-smelling, species-neutral cleanser.

“All better now,” Jack said, aiming for lighthearted but it came out a bit rough. He blamed that on the fact that Cas seemed to be working on returning the favor of getting them both clean.

Whatever effect the slime might’ve had on Cas’s mood, it certainly didn’t seem to dampen his libido. It wasn’t long before Jack’s searching, scrubbing hands found themselves wrapped around Cas’ dick.

“Might want to make sure you’re all clean down here, too,” he offered cheekily.

Cas rolled his eyes but only a half-heartbeat later he’d worked a hand against Jack’s belly and let his knuckles drag down in a slow, teasing slide. Jack gasped when those long fingers wrapped around him. He decided that risking a kiss was worth it.

Fortunately, Cas seemed agreeable although he bit at Jack’s lip a little harsh and a little fierce, but Jack only groaned breathily and gave a firmer tug on the cock in his hand.

It felt almost… playful; making out under the spray and just lazily jacking each other, but Jack reveled in the sensations. Cas pressed slick skin against him and thumbed the head of his cock just right, and it wasn’t long before sensation overcame him, and Jack managed a hoarse, “Cas! Oh… yesss.”

The benefit to coming in a shower: instant cleanup. Although Cas still pulled his hands up to his lips to chase away the lingering taste. Jack groaned at that, and an ache shot through him as his dick tried valiantly to salute that sensual image.

Fighting against the soporific effect of a good orgasm, he focused his attention on Cas’ dick, still iron-hard in his grip. “You want to fuck me?” he asked, smirking wickedly.

“Not quite,” Cas said, but he definitely wanted something else and he demonstrated by pushing fingers into Jack’s sopping hair and gripping tight.

“Oh yeah,” Jack husked out as he let himself be chivvied down to his knees.

Water chased away most of the flavor of Cas’ skin, but he sucked at Cas’ hip and the soft curve of his belly before taking Cas’ cock in his mouth. Fingers clenched harder in his hair, and Jack knew what Cas wanted. He got a fist wrapped tight around the base and cupped his other palm over Cas’ hip and then let his throat go lax.

The moan that fell from Cas’ lips was devastating, and Jack felt his eyes rolling back as he let Cas fuck his face. His thrusts were too measured, too controlled, though, despite the pleasure he obviously derived from using Jack’s mouth.

Jack curved his free hand further around to Cas’ ass cheek and dug fingernails in, pulling his hips forward hard. It pushed Cas’ cock deep into his throat, scraping against his soft palate. But Jack had long ago perfected deep-throating and he just swallowed around Cas’ cockhead and pushed two fingertips into the cleft of Cas’ ass.

“Jack,” Cas hissed, almost like he was in pain. But he took the hint, and he got both hand’s into Jack’s hair, knuckling the strands, and held Jack’s head in place while he took control of the rhythm.

It didn’t take long before those hands clenched and Cas’ whole body went stiff and Jack felt the first hot pulse splash against his tongue. He swallowed and gasped and swallowed again and when he finally let Cas’s deflating cock slip from his mouth, he gave a few more short strokes and caught the last drops of come on his lips.

Standing above him, eyes closed and mouth open, Cas looked washed out in bliss. But when he felt Jack start to struggle to his feet – the tile underfoot was a bit slippery – Cas’ hands were there to steady him.

“Thank you, Jack,” Cas muttered.

Jack pressed a kiss just to the side of Cas’ mouth. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he teased.

Rolling his eyes again, Cas let out a long sigh, but was unable to keep the warmth from either. “I suppose.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, they lay in the suite’s enormous bed, naked and sweaty and tangled in sheets.

“Listen, Cas,” Jack began tentatively, “maybe a little later, I don’t suppose we could –”

“No,” Cas stated firmly.

“You don’t even know what I was going to –”

Again, Cas interrupted, rolling his head on the pillow and fixing Jack with a look that he recognized all too well. “I know exactly what you were going to ask. And that young male warden does not need to be corrupted by you.”  

“C’mon, Cas,” Jack wheedled. “There’s this really fascinating thing about Palaxian dimorphism –”

“No.” This negation was even flatter and drier than the first. Like too-flat, crumbly pancake dry.

Jack sighed. Apparently a three-way with young Zerresh was out of the question. Not that he’d been serious in asking. Well, not _too_ serious anyway.  Mostly he just did it because it was expected of him. And because it messed with Cas. Ruffled his feathers… so to speak.

Though, he knew damn well that one of these days Cas would probably surprise him by saying ‘Yes’ and he had no idea how he’d react. But – luckily or unluckily – today was not that day.

“Hey, Cas. I’m sorry about earlier. About not warning you about the Traykarian. I, uh… just didn’t think about it, you know?”

“It’s fine, Jack. It would be rather unrealistic of me to expect you to remember to warn me about every single quirk of biology for every species we encounter. Nor could you have anticipated the dispute that triggered the altercation that led to the death of the Traykarian.”

Well, that latter statement wasn’t necessarily true. Going into that part of the station and into that drinking establishment, odds were at least 50/50 to a brawl breaking out, but Jack didn’t bother to correct him.

Cas’ eyes narrowed again in that damnably knowing way.  “But your apology isn’t about the Traykarian, specifically, is it?”

Jack would probably never stop being surprised at how well Cas could read him. “Not entirely, no.” Still… how to explain his concerns? They were so, vague and unformed. “I guess, it’s just… Look, Cas.” Jack rolled to his side, propping his elbow into the mattress and resting his chin in the cup of his palm.

“Am I… are we…” He couldn’t seem to get the words to come together. Still, Cas was staring at him expectantly, and ever-so patiently and Jack knew that he’d stay that way as long as it took for Jack to figure his shit out.  Taking a breath, of the ‘deep, in through the nose-out through the mouth variety’, Jack took the time to sort out the words that would express the anxiety he’d felt earlier.

Finally, he began again. “You don’t think that I forgot to tell you about the Traykarian because I wasn’t thinking of you enough, do you? I mean, I’m worried that I’m not… thinking about you. Or, maybe I’m taking us for granted.” He sighed.

“No,” Cas said simply, needing no more than a few moments to consider his response. “I think that it’s the nature of two people who have been together for a significant time to begin to think of each other as having never not been a part of their lives.” He reached out and caught Jack’s fingers in his. “Even for those such as us, who have lived longer than the memory of some planets.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked, although the confirmation wasn’t necessary. “Yeah,” he repeated, this time in agreement. “I mean, it’s certainly true for me. I may have lived hundreds of lifetimes before we met, but I feel like you’ve always been in my life.”

The soft but pleased little smile that pushed faintly into Cas’ cheeks was so worth all of the troubles of the day.

“That’s true for me as well, Jack.”

 “Thanks, Cas.” He kissed a bare shoulder. “I do love you, you know.”

Cas smiled, soft and fond. “And I you.”

Jack settled back into the pillows, snuggling closer to Cas’ warmth. He drifted into a sort of half doze and could feel Cas’ beside him going lax as well.

“Cas,” he whispered, soft and sleepy.

“Yes, Jack?” Cas replied equally low and dreamy.

“You sure about that Palaxian?”

Jacks subsequent laughter was caught up in the pillow that Cas smothered playfully over his face.

 


End file.
